Mr Bennet Receives a Phone Call
by EldawenEmileia
Summary: In the middle of what started off as a normal work day, Mr Bennet receives an unexpected phone call... [Lizzie Bennet Diaries]


**_Author's Note: I wanted to do something set in the future (from where we are in episode releases - Q & A #8 just released today, ep. 80 a couple days ago), but I also really wanted it be something that wouldn't be totally canon-balled. I picked Mr Bennet's POV because 1) I already created a twitter account for him, so this seemed a natural extension, 2) I think he's underrated, and therefore 3) his story is not one that many people have touched, making it a place where maybe 4) I could help fill in a little of the gaps in the story.  
_**

* * *

Mr Bennet was walking down the hallway, going from one meeting to the next. _So just when and how did my life become a stream of constant meetings? So ridiculous. But one must find amusement somehow! So I guess they'll do_. It wasn't the first time he'd thought that.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. For about a second he assumed it was a reminder for his next meeting and ignored it. But then it kept on vibrating. Frowning, he took it out and glanced at the screen. It was his wife calling. His frown deepened. She might have been known for loving a good panic, but if she urgently needed him to pick up milk or bread on the way home from work, she usually just sent a text. Not often did she actually call him in the middle of work. _Something_must have gotten her in a tizzy! He paused in his stride, curiosity and admittedly some concern easily overriding his desire to sit through his next meeting.

"Is the true apocalypse finally happening?" was his unorthodox greeting, unable to resist just a little bit of snark.

"Oh, my dear, how _can_ you! You _know_ how I get so nervous about things! And oh, what a blessing the apocalypse would be in comparison with— If only you _knew_ what –" the southern twang in Mrs Bennet's voice grew increasingly pronounced with her mounting agitation, and Mr Bennet knew when to cut her off.

"Perhaps you had better tell me 'what', exactly, is the matter, Mrs Bennet," he said with a certain amount of sternness, after she had rambled on for 30 seconds that seemed an eternity, without actually telling him anything. He almost never called her by anything other than "dear" or her first name, Brittney (after whom Lydia got her middle name – and why did he think of that now?), and when he went with "Mrs Bennet," she knew enough to cut the hysterics and get to the point. She did so here – well, she did the best she knew how.

"John, it's about _Lydia!_" her voice wailed in his ear. _Lydia_. Mr Bennet's brain whirled. He'd had some concerns regarding his youngest of late, and suddenly he began imagining all sorts of things that could have happened to her, that would have his wife calling him now. In less than a second the possibilities flashed through his mind. Drugs? Drinking and driving? Was she in an accident? Was she hospitalized? Did she accidentally injure or even kill someone with the car? Was she pregnant with her new boyfriend's child? (Some of his concerns had had to do with the amount of time she was spending with George, he'd have to admit.) Other possibilities he dared not think on flashed through as well. But the details – well, what details there were, scarce enough as were available, both too much and not enough all at once – the details that spilled forth from Mrs Bennet were worse. Much worse. _Oh, Lydia!_His heart ached, thinking that if he'd only done a better job as a father, this would never have happened. The paleness and anguish on his face engendered looks of wondering and pity in his coworkers every time one of them passed him by, but he barely noticed, and didn't – couldn't – acknowledge them.

"I'll be there just as soon as I can. I'll cancel my meetings and tell them it's a family emergency. I'm on my way. Someone..." he cleared his throat, which had inconveniently choked up, "someone should call Jane and Lizzie. But it'll be ok. _She'll_ be ok. We'll _all_ be ok. She – w – _we_, we will be. We have to be. And we will be." He repeated himself as he tried to inject confidence and belief into the reassurances he uttered to his wife... and to himself. "We _will_ be." _If only I can just believe that._


End file.
